


Duplicity

by thedevilchicken



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Krennic believes Galen loves him. This is a belief that Galen has spent twelve years cultivating in him.





	Duplicity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



"Come to bed," Krennic says. "Whatever you're doing will wait till tomorrow, but I'll tell you one thing for sure and that's that I won't." 

Galen sighs. He takes off his glasses and he sets them on the desk. He rubs the bridge of his nose, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, and then he finally turns to glance over his shoulder, the desk chair swivelling smoothly. Even after all this time, he still doesn't care to be interrupted, but he has had to learn to pick his battles carefully. 

Krennic is standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, but with the cape and the gloves and the uniform jacket gone, he lacks a great deal of severity. In just his sleeveless undershirt and boots and trousers, with his chin tilted up, his hands tucked in against bare arms that haven't seen the sun in a very long time, he looks more like he did back in their misspent youth. Galen finds that he recalls those days with a genre of reluctant fondness. It is with unease that he observes that reluctance grow more distant with each passing day. He understands that he shouldn't allow it, not knowing Orson Krennic as he does, not knowing how this life they share began, but that's the truth. 

Galen still has scars under his uniform. The collar and cuffs he wore when he first arrived were electrified and he gave Krennic every possible reason to use them, until his skin was raw with burns. Krennic always asked him why he made him do it and Galen started by turning that back at him - "Why do you make me make you do this?" he asked, more than once, in those first months, and Krennic scowled and left him in his room that felt more like a cell back then than it does now. These days, he has to remind himself that's what it is. This installation is the gilded cage that Orson Krennic made for him. He has pretended not to see that for so long now that he sometimes finds himself close to believe his own lie. Sometimes, he is terrified by that. 

"Come here," Galen says, not moving at all, and Krennic quirks his brows at him across the room. They don't officially share quarters but a secret door was installed between the two, from Krennic's private office into Galen's bedroom closet, so that Krennic may come and go as he pleases. Over the years, that has come to mean Galen's bed is not his but rather _theirs_. 

Galen folds his hands in his lap and he looks at Krennic steadily. "Come here," he says again, and Krennic only pauses for a moment, not long enough for Galen to believe he won't comply, before he pushes away from the door and does, in fact, come closer. Over the years, Krennic has come to let his guard down with him. Galen could have killed him ten times over and he knows it, and he's planned it out inside his head, all the ways that Orson Krennic might die without the blame falling on him. But Krennic would have been replaced and then the increased scrutiny would have perhaps revealed Galen's little secret. He has always know that he cannot take that chance. 

Krennic comes closer, until he's close enough that Galen can reach out and pull him close still with his fingertips tucked down under his belt. Krennic takes another step as Galen locks the castors of his chair in place and shuffles to the edge of it. He glances up, and Krennic's watching him avidly as he begins to unbuckle his belt. He knows that Krennic's watching as he unzips his fly for him and then pulls down at his waistband, stripping both uniform trousers and underwear straight down to the top of his boots. He takes a moment to tuck the front of Krennic's undershirt up underneath itself, and then he's bare from navel to knee. 

Once upon a time, Krennic practice tactics that he seemed to believe might sway Galen to his side of things. He used the collar and the cuffs and told him it was his own fault each time he used them, then he rubbed the salve into his skin to ease the burns. He stripped him and he showered him and he cut his hair, then he dressed him in a uniform until what he saw in the mirror was more the man he'd used to be than the man he hoped he was. He left files in his room, accidentally on purpose, knowing that Galen would open them, and read them, and find himself intrigued by the problems they posed. And, sometimes, he came into Galen's room and unbuckled Galen's belt, and he bared his skin and sucked his cock. He sucked his cock and Galen enjoyed it, and he hated himself for that. He still does. 

Galen wraps one hand around Krennic's cock, and for a second his focus strays to the faded pink scars at his wrist from the cuffs. Sometimes Krennic kisses them, pressing his mouth to Galen's scars almost like he's sorry that he put them there, and perhaps in his own way he is. But then Galen's gaze returns to Krennic's cock there in his hand, and he strokes it slowly, feeling it thicken and stiffen and flush in response. It's not long before he's fully erect, foreskin eased back from the head, and Galen leans in to lick him lightly with just the very tip of his tongue. Krennic shivers. He curses under his breath. His hands are in fists, nails to palms. He is thrilled and unsteady and Galen understands his is the only thing in the galaxy that provokes this response in him. Sometimes he wonders if Krennic knows he knows. Sometimes he wonders if he knows he uses it to his advantage. 

Galen takes the head of Krennic's cock into his mouth, suddenly, and gives one moment's rough suck at it before he sits back in his chair. Krennic groans as if he might have come from just a moment more, then he rubs his mouth, perhaps embarrassed. 

"Bend over," Galen says, and when Krennic frowns, apparently confused by this instruction, Galen reaches out and gives the top of his desk a demonstrative pat. Krennic seems intrigued by that, so he turns to the desk and he bends himself over it, resting on his forearms on the rubberised mat that covers the smooth metal. It's really more workbench than desk, or at least it performs a dual purpose, and it's bolted to the floor so Galen knows it won't shift with any unexpected movement. 

He stands, He steps up closer behind Krennic and he forces one knee between his to nudge till his stance widens. He runs his hands up from the back of Krennic's knees, his blunt nails raking lightly, right up to his bare backside, then he bracket's Krennic's waist with his hands and presses his own still clothed erection up against his arse. 

"Galen..." Krennic says, like his name itself is a kind of warning, but Galen just says, "Shh," and rocks his hips against him. He runs his hands up over Krennic's back, under his undershirt, his fingers pressing till Krennic shifts himself just far enough to pull it off and bare more skin. Galen rakes the length of Krennic's bare spine with his nails and hears Krennic's breath catch. Then he unbuckles his own belt. He frees his own cock. He rests is heavily against the cleft of Krennic's arse. 

"Galen..." Krennic says again, his voice sounding tighter, needy, and Galen feels it in his gut. It's not a warning this time and Galen knows Krennic's watching as he leans forward and retrieves the little pot of oil he's been using for his model work. He unscrews the lid and sets the pot down on the table, not for his own convenience but so that Krennic sees him dip his first two fingers into it, all the way down to the knuckles. He does it so that he will be imagining Galen's slick fingers inside him, anticipating them, wanting them, before he's even traced his cleft, let alone pressed his fingers into it. 

But then he does it. He doesn't bother to part Krennic's cheeks - he feels his way with the pads of two fingers till he's rubbing them firmly against Krennic's hole. He teases his rim with one fingertip, pulls back for more oil, and then he pushes them in, both, not one and then two, because he knows how impatient Krennic will be. Because he knows how impatient he is himself. 

Krennic groans out loud at the sudden penetration, the sound entirely lacking subtlety but Krennic has always believed himself to be more subtle than he is in reality. Galen feels how tight he is around his fingers, how hot and how his hole almost spasms, tightening and relaxing by turn as if Krennic is so turned on that he can't even begin to control it. He wonders how that will feel around his cock and so he thrusts with his fingers just a handful of times before he pulls back again to slick himself, till his erection almost drips in the same oil that's currently making Orson Krennic's only minutely loosened asshole glisten in the harsh overhead light. 

He presses the head of his cock up flush to Krennic's hole. Krennic is tense, his hands pressing down hard to Galen's desk, not that anything here is ever truly Galen's. His legs are parted, constrained by his trousers still caught and pulled tight at the tops of his high boots, and his head is down, forehead pressed to the rubber mat as Galen holds his own cock in place and starts to push against him. He slips the first time, the length of his cock skimming up toward his coccyx instead of opening his hole and pushing in. He slips again the second time and the tip of his cock skims Krennic's perineum to nudge there at the back of his balls. He doesn't mind. It just heightens the anticipation he can hear in Krennic's breath until he finally pushes in, slowly, feeling Krennic's asshole twitch and pull tight at the intrusion that his cock constitutes, even as he clearly fights to relax to let him in. 

"Galen..." Krennic says, _again_ breathless, as he shifts his hips just fractionally and makes Galen push in deeper. Galen leans his head back as his hands settle at Krennic's hips, as he sheaths his cock in him. He takes a shaky breath, then begins to rock his hips and move inside him. 

It's been twelve years since Lah'mu. Galen would say they've been long years but he hasn't felt that way about them; he's looked up from his work to find another year has passed almost without him realising. Sometimes he pauses at his desk, or in his lab, or lying there at Krennic's side in bed at night, and he thinks were he a better man he would count the minutes that have passed since his lover who's his jailor shot his wife, or that all time would be measured in the moments that he's missed of his daughter's life. Instead, time passes quickly, filled with work, with experiments, and with the covering of his so subtle sabotage. 

It's been twelve years since Lah'mu, and there are more lines on Galen's face than there were then but he would like to believe that's the only way in which he's changed. Krennic thinks the work has him snared, that long evenings together talking through the science of it over dinner keep him bound there, that sucking his cock while his wrists were in cuffs was all it took to convince him it was all for his own benefit. 

After the first few months, he made up his mind to stop struggling. He recalls the first time he ran his fingers through Krennic's hair while Krennic's mouth was on him, how he tensed as if awaiting an attack then groaned around him when it didn't come. He recalls the first time he took off his clothes without an argument and instead of stretching out on his back in bed to await Krennic's mouth, he went down on his hands and knees instead. He let Krennic fuck him the way it was so obvious he'd always wanted to, and again the next morning, and again the next night. He thanked him when he poured the wine at dinner, though he'd never expressed thanks before that at all, and four nights later, in bed, he sank down to nuzzle lightly at Krennic's cock before he took him in his mouth. Bit by bit, he constructed the lie, till the collar and cuffs hadn't been needed in weeks. And he still recalls the look of wary excitement that was on Krennic's face when he finally felt he could remove them. He hasn't put them back on him since. 

Now, Galen fucks him. He's been thinking about it for months, touching himself in the shower as he imagines the exact force required for penetration, letting his fingertips graze Krennic's cleft while he sucks his cock as he contemplates optimal angles. It has very little to do with science now that he's inside him, one hand braced against the table and the other squeezing Krennic's hip. He uses his extra height and extra mass to his advantage as he leans down over him, but it's instinctive, not calculated. And one of Krennic's hands goes down so he can stroke himself as he pushes back to meet Galen's thrusts with a slap of skin to skin. Krennic strokes himself till he can barely catch his breath, till his muscles twitch, till he jerks and comes with a desperate, relieved groan that he can't quite muffle against the table. It spurs Galen on, till his own hard rhythm falters, till his hips jerk forward and his muscles clench and he comes, pushed deep inside him. 

"Galen..." Krennic says, a long moment later, when Galen's cock is still hard inside him, while Galen's pulse is still racing, while one thumb is tracing the rim of Krennic's hole that's still stretched out tight around him. He pulls back slowly, pulls out, dips the tip of his thumb in just an inch past Krennic's loosened hole to see him pull tight around it for a second before he sits down heavily on his desk chair once again. He's utterly dishevelled, hair out of place, jacket and shirt rucked up, trousers round his knees, his skin flushed and famp, and he aches, and his day's work is still unfinished, and he's vaguely irritated by that. But then Krennic turns to him, still bare from the top of his head down to his knees. He leans back gingerly against the desk and pulls his trousers back up to his waist. 

"Come to bed," Krennic says, but it's not the cocky tone he said those words with earlier. It's like a request and not a demand this time. It's like he almost believes they're equals so when he goes, Galen rises and goes with him. They take a detour by the refresher to wipe away the sweat and come and then they both lie down in bed. Galen's bed. _Theirs_.

Galen is not so blinded by his loss or by his work or sense of pure self-preservation that he doesn't see what's happening. When the back of Krennic's hand brushes his beneath the sheets and their fingers tangle lightly, Orson Krennic thinks he loves him. It is a thought that Galen has worked hard to cultivate. It serves him. It is a necessary component of his long-standing plan. But, as their fingers tangle, Galen wonders sickly if the man he used to be would recognise the man that he now is. 

Krennic believes he loves him; sometimes Galen wonders if perhaps the reason he believes that is because it's true. 

Perhaps it's true. And Galen knows he is not nearly so horrified by that notion as he once would have been.


End file.
